


Inside Out and Backwards

by Cheshyr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorder, Hopeful Ending, Pack Family, Pack Mom, Vigorexia, Why do I do this, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshyr/pseuds/Cheshyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weight has always been an important theme in the background of Stiles’ life, but lately, it's become his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside Out and Backwards

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill: Un-beta'd, not season two compatible (although part of it is formatted to tie into recent season two events...), I do what I want.
> 
> You should all know what you're getting into by now.
> 
> (Also, I recognize that this fic is long and should probably be multiple chapters, but I couldn't find a good place to break it up so... sorry.)

Weight has always been an important theme in the background of Stiles’ life. It seems to appear every time he turns around, lurking in the corner of his vision. Some instances he doesn’t remember, like the early months of his life when he would scream and cry and his father would shout at his wife, _You have to feed him every two hours. He can’t last as long as you._

Later, when his father gets promoted to sheriff and starts spending more and more time away from home, Stiles would sit on his parents’ bed for hours watching his mother try to get ready. He watched her turn endlessly in front of the full-length mirror leaning against the wall, pinching and pulling at her skin and always looking so unhappy. Sometimes she would stand on her scale and cry. Sometimes she would run her fingers over the stretch marks on her belly and spit out at her son _You did this to me. This is your fault. Why did I marry a man who wanted kids?_

There is never really any balance in the Stilinski house. When Stiles is alone with his mom she overlooks feeding him, too busy measuring her thighs. When he is alone with his dad, the sheriff piles his plate, encouraging him to eat more and more and not be like his mother. When his parents are together they forget about him, distracted by the sound of their own screaming voices.

Sometimes Stiles will creep into the hallway to hear the angry words. His father sounds desperate, sounds frantic, sounds close to crying. _Please, please stop. You’re thin enough, you’re beautiful, you’re wasting away, please._ His mother sounds a crack away from crazed, _You don’t understand, I can’t, I won’t, I don’t want to be ugly anymore._ Time passes until eventually, their arguments aren’t just about them. _You can’t do this to him, it’s not healthy, he needs to eat._ A shaking voice responds, _I just don’t want him to be fat like me_ , and Stiles learns that ‘fat’ is synonymous with ‘ugly’.

The sheriff shakes his head, _You’re going to make him_ sick _like you_ , and there is cold silence.

The next day his mother looks at him, and her eyes seem afraid, seem horrified. And she gives Stiles a fake smile and eats something, an apple or some carrots and says _See, see? It’s okay, you can eat. You don’t have to be like me._ Her voice shakes and quivers, _Please don’t be like me._ And so he will eat something and think that maybe it really is okay, but then he hears his mom being sick in her bathroom, heaving in between broken sobs. He thinks of the food that made her this way. It is the first time Stiles thinks of food as poison.

Eventually the screaming stops, and so does the talking and the trying and the love. Mr. and Mrs. Stilinski don’t look at each other anymore, just live around each other and Stiles. Their son has become a spoil of war, his weight like a scoreboard of who is winning at any given moment. He won’t learn about it until he is much older, but Stiles’ parents had been filing for divorce when his mom finally entered the hospital. 

He was seven years old, and even then Stiles knew that his mom looked sick, looked fragile, looked so, so thin. His father is away and Stiles just wants to see his mommy smile. He stands on his tip-toes to reach the kitchen counter and haphazardly assembles a ham and cheese sandwich, just like his dad makes for him to take to school. Shyly, Stiles walks into the dining room where his mom is sitting quietly and chewing on her fingernails.

“Mama? I made you something.” 

He puts the plate in front of her and she recoils as if she’s been struck. Her eyes are wide and he can see her starvation, even as she shoves the dish off the table, letting it shatter on the ground. She stands and sways. She looks at Stiles and her hands ghost across her stomach, hyper-aware of the silvery marks beneath her shirt. She is shaking and crying and her eyes still flick to the meager sandwich scattered across the floor. 

“ _You’re killing me, do you understand? You are killing me._ ”

The words escape like a breath, drawn out between her teeth and hissed like a serpent’s accusation ( _Stiles looks at the food and thinks of poison again_ ). Then her eyelids flutter and she sways a bit more, and then her eyes roll into the back of her head and she crashes to the ground. Stiles stares at her, eyes wide. Then he screams. He screams so loud and so long that the neighbors call 911. A cop car and an ambulance arrive minutes later, and his mother is loaded onto a gurney and rushed to the hospital, while the officer takes the hand of the kid he recognizes and calls his dad. 

Stiles’ mom stays in the hospital for almost two months. He hears his dad cry at her bedside, begging for forgiveness, telling her he loves her, don’t leave him, don’t leave him alone, and Stiles is outside. He hears his mother screech and struggle when the doctors start talking about drastic measures. He hears her sob and convulse around the feeding tube pumping pale sludge into her concave stomach. Finally, one day he is sitting in the hallway with a worksheet for school, and he hears her heart monitor flat line.

~

The sun is just setting, the sky turning a golden red, when Stiles hesitantly opens the door into the garage. His father is working extra shifts at the station, doing everything in his power to keep from facing the realities at home. The sheriff hasn’t been able to bring himself to move any of his wife’s belongings from their room. Except her mirror. Her mirror, after he and his son returned home from the hospital alone, he had grabbed and thrown onto the floor. The carpet prevented it from shattering completely, but it did crack, like a black vein slanting upwards from one side to another. He stood in the center of the room, chest heaving and hands shaking, before he finally took a shuddering breath, and sat down on the floor and cried. The next morning, he moved the mirror into the garage, shoving it in a corner behind boxes of Christmas decorations and throwing an old tarp carelessly over it.

Now, Stiles shoves as many of the boxes to the side as he can before timidly tugging the canvas away. The fabric slides down to pool at his feet, and he stares at his reflection, the image marred by the crack running from his left cheek through his nose to his right eyebrow. He stares and studies, and examines everything about himself. He reaches his hands up to pinch at his flesh, and turns from side to side. Standing in the low light of the garage, Stiles tries to see what his mother saw. 

He doesn’t like what he sees, and he thinks he understands.

~

Sheriff Stilinski is now the sole provider for Stiles, and with the loss of his wife hanging over him, he throws himself into feeding his son. The first time he makes Stiles lunch after his mother’s death is the first time Stiles has a panic attack, his mother’s voice echoing in his ear, _You’re killing me, you’re killing me_ , and the food looking like some kind of weapon. 

Even after the attacks subside, Stiles tries to push his food around, to keep it out of him, but is father is persistent in his desperation, and Stiles hasn’t learned to put his fingers down his throat yet. 

He remembers going to the doctor when he is nine for a check-up and seeing the older man frown as he looked down at the clipboard in his hand. “He’s gained quite a bit of weight, it seems.” The doctor says casually, “He’s still within a healthy weight range, but I’d keep an eye on that.” He doesn’t notice the subtle look of triumph on the elder, or the quivering lip on the child. 

This goes on for years. Every annual check-up, the man in the white coat tells father and son that Stiles is a little heavy, not too much but watch that, be careful, you don’t want him gaining much more. Until finally one day Stiles learns about a thing called ‘gag reflex’ and after dinner he goes into the bathroom and empties himself. He feels better than he has in a long time, and his chest swells with pride at finally finding a solution that would surely make everyone happy. Finally make everything okay.

~

When Stiles is fourteen he finally hits his growth spurt. He shoots up and his flesh stretches and pulls to cover his bones and suddenly he can see his ribs. The doctor still frowns at his check-ups, but now he says “You’re a bit thin, Stiles. Still healthy but keep an eye on that.” The sheriff looks at his son with something closer to suspicion than concern as he constantly comments _Are you eating enough? Have a little more. One more bite, Stiles, just one more bite._ Stiles never wants one more bite. He never wants to eat until he is full, until his stomach feels distorted and distended. But he hates the looks in his father’s eyes, like he’s seeing his wife when he looks at his son, and so he eats _one more bite_ , and maybe sometimes he can’t bring himself to keep it down, but his dad always smiles from across the table and Stiles always purges with the sink running, masking the muffled sound of his sickness. 

Then one day the sheriff goes for a check-up of his own and the tests say high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and the doctor says change your diet. Stiles takes a stuttering breath and thinks that maybe everything will be okay. His dad’s health isn’t a high risk yet, an easy fix by just eating a little healthier, and maybe now his stomach can settle, too. But his father is nothing if not stubborn. He fights the new diet for himself and fights like _Hell_ the diet for Stiles. That night Stiles and his father sit across from each other at the kitchen table in awkward silence, in thinly veiled rebellion, both more concerned with what the other isn’t eating. 

~

It doesn’t get easier. He goes to school and sees the older high school boys, sees the other guys on the lacrosse team and Stiles suddenly feels very, very wrong. He has become long and lanky, but also soft and malleable, nothing like the toned and muscled men on the covers of magazines he pretends not to look at. He feels weak and he wants to change that. So Stiles works harder at practices and eats less junk and more protein because that’s supposed to help, and yet nothing works. He becomes leaner, and maybe a little more firm, but his muscles do not want to bulk up, don’t want to become quite as strong or attractive as everyone around him seems to be. 

Scott is a good friend, but he does not help. Because some days Stiles comes to school after eating too much all weekend so he doesn’t touch his lunch and Scott frowns in concern, “Are you alright? You’re not eating anything? You shouldn’t skip meals.” And sometimes Stiles arrives after getting chewed out by his dad, or after fasting for so long he feels like he’s caving in and so he eats as much as he can and Scott’s eyes widen, “Dude, slow down. Where do you put it all?” and Stiles wants to scream _my gut, my legs, the toilet, take your pick just leave me alone!_ But he doesn’t. He laughs and Scott shakes his head fondly, and Stiles wraps an arm around his stomach under the table, fist clenched so tightly his nails make little crescent indents on his palm. 

~

Stiles never cared that he was human until suddenly being human wasn’t good enough.

Overnight, his best friend has become a super strong, super powerful werewolf with a hot girl hanging all over him. It doesn’t help that at some point in the duration of their insane hunt for an insane alpha, Stiles started noticing Derek Hale. There was the obvious stuff that he picked up on pretty quickly, like the fact that Derek had just ridiculous abs, and the fact that his face, despite his ever-present scowl, was like a piece of art. But there were other things, like the fact the way Derek would threaten him and then not hesitate to protect him, or the way he could never keep his emotions out of his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. It didn’t take long for Stiles to realize exactly what was going on. He didn’t care that he had a crush on a guy, but he did care that he had a crush on a guy who was completely out of his league, in every possible way. 

He goes home and stands in the bathroom half-naked. His mind conjures up images of Derek’s perfect muscles as he pinches at his own weak flesh, turning to the side to stare at his stomach. Stiles wants to rip his hair out because he’s not skinny and he’s not toned, he’s just some ugly human who would never be good enough, especially compared to Derek freaking Hale.

Stiles wears as many layers of clothes as he can get away with, and the werewolf business has his dad working double shifts, unable to monitor his son’s meals and Stiles is finally able to just not eat for a little. He runs, and fights, and watches Lydia fall, and is kidnapped by Peter Hale who looks at him in a way that sends shivers down his spine.

By the end of the year, Stiles has become immersed in a group of people consisting of three werewolves, one alpha, and a kick-ass huntress. All of a sudden, Stiles can’t comfort himself with _well at least I’m smart_ because Lydia was a genius. He couldn’t say _I’ve still got my personality_ because no one seemed to like it. 

Every time he sees the pack, he waits for them to call him useless and walk away.

~

Over time, as the adrenalin from the near constant state of danger they had been in finally wear off, the pack starts to become just that. A pack. They spend time together, and look out for each other, and even when they fight or argue there is a sense of family there.

Stiles finds himself developing an interesting role. He cooks for the group, and helps clean, and gives advice and hugs and comfort and one day Jackson laughingly calls him mom and the pack goes silent because they all suddenly realize it’s true. There is a moment when they all seem subtly nervous that they have insulted him in some way, but Stiles just smiles widely and asks if he’s allowed to ground them. Because Stiles loves his place among them, loves being permitted to take care of them, loves being important to them, even if he doesn’t always feel appreciated. He thinks that maybe they wont be so quick to get rid of him if they feel a little attached. 

~

It is a slow decent, but Stiles realizes that he is steadily losing control, as if he ever had any. First he goes for a check-up, alone because his father has work and he is old enough to take himself now. The doctor frowns, just like he always has, only now he says, “You’re a bit underweight, son. Is everything alright?” Stiles wants to laugh because no, everything is not alright, he knows he is ugly but the world can’t make up its mind on what he is supposed to do about it. 

He shakes his head and the doctor shrugs and say to try eating a bit more.

Stiles goes home to an empty house and goes into his room and does his homework and doesn’t eat. The next day, after lacrosse, he tells Scott and Jackson he’s going to stay a little longer to talk to a teacher about a project and thanks whoever is listening that his heart is still racing enough from practice to hide his lie. Stiles waits until he is alone and then he goes outside and spends an hour running laps. He spends another hour inside lifting weights, and then twenty minutes standing before a mirror listing everything wrong with him. By the time he gets home he feels like passing out and so he tells his dad he grabbed dinner with the gang and goes upstairs to shower before crawling into bed.

And that becomes his new routine. Sometimes he sneaks out in the morning and sometimes he sneaks out at night but Stiles always runs or lifts weights or both and he tells his dad he’s eating with the pack and he texts the pack that he’ll eat before he comes, never trusting his worthless heart to keep a secret. He runs extra drills with Scott and Jackson to help them keep control during games, and he stocks Derek’s house with food and supplies, and he lets Lydia and Allison rant to him about whatever they need to, and he lets Derek use him as bait for training exercises. For awhile Stiles thinks he will be fine, no one knows and he will be fine.

Then it all starts falling apart, and Stiles starts slipping up. The first time is when Derek tries to put a hand on his shoulder fondly. He is walking Stiles to his jeep after showing him the course he wants to run the others through the next day. The alpha had taken to asking Stiles’ opinion on his regime of the pack, though Stiles wasn’t entirely sure why. The werewolf had just slapped his hand gently on the human’s back to thank him for his help, and for a second Stiles felt his heart flutter before he abruptly jerked away because what if Derek could feel his fat, could feel how soft and weak he was? Derek snapped his eyes to him, looking almost a little hurt. Stiles blinked before quickly rambling something or another, chattering about lacrosse and injuries and tripping and all the while knowing that he was only making it worse because the werewolf could obviously tell he was lying. None-the-less, Stile scrambled into his jeep and drove away before the alpha could even get a word in and Stiles sees him staring after him through the rearview mirror.

The next instance happens almost a week later when the pack is having a day off, just playing and goofing off. The werewolves are chasing after each other in a glorified game of tag while Allison and Stiles laugh from the sidelines. Eventually, Scott runs over and sweeps his girlfriend off her feet, literally, carrying her through the trees. Stiles laughs until Jackson comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy’s stomach and lifting him into the air, “Don’t worry, Stiles, we wont leave you out!” he jokes playfully.

But Stiles almost immediately begins struggling, “Put me down, put me down, _put me down!_ ” Hearing the serious note of panic in his voice, Jackson quickly drops him, Stiles stumbling a bit away as he catches his breath. When he turns back he flushes when he notices that the entire pack is looking at him curiously, waiting for an explanation for his outburst. How was he supposed to explain that he didn’t want Jackson to feel how heavy he was, to realize how much Stiles weighed in his arms? So instead he mumbles something about not liking to be carried, and while it’s not exactly a lie, the entire pack knows it’s not quite the truth. 

The final straw comes just days later, when Stiles finally collapses. It is Saturday, and he had just walked into Derek’s kitchen, pulling a glass out of the cupboard that desperately needed painting. Luckily they had finally gotten running water in the mansion, so he held the cup under the sink, his hand trembling as he turned the faucet on. Water, he just needed water, then he wouldn’t feel so lightheaded and so dizzy and so very, very weak. 

Stiles turns around to return to the living room, when everything tilts. He distantly hears the sound of glass shattering, of voices calling his name. He feels like he’s floating, which is why he’s so confused when he sees the floor rising to meet him. 

He wonders if this is what his mother felt like all those years ago. 

~

When Stiles opens his eyes, he thinks he is dreaming. His head is in Lydia’s lap, Scott is to his left, grasping his hand so hard it is painful, and Derek is kneeling over him, face tense and eyes betraying his concern. Jackson and Allison stand in the doorway, uncertain and nervous. He blinks slowly, but the fog is still there at the edge of his vision, and he thinks that even if he's not asleep, he's not exactly awake either.

Derek’s mouth is moving, his soft lips clearly forming words, but it still takes Stiles a moment to actually hear him.

“Stiles? Stiles…” There are hands on his face, Derek tapping his cheek softly, trying to force him to focus, while Lydia gently lays her hand on his forehead. “Stiles, I need you to look at me. Say something.”

“What would you have me say?” His voice is raspy, and faint, but the entire pack breathes a sigh of relief. If Stiles can still use sarcasm then he clearly isn’t dying.

Derek frown at him, “What happened.”

Stiles thinks of his mom. “I don’t know.” The entire pack hears the lie and Derek narrows his eyes. His hand drifts down from Stiles’ face to his chest, and Stiles is still too disoriented to push him away, to protect himself from the examination. He can do nothing as Derek’s fingers brush against his collarbone, prominent even through his sweatshirt, and trail down his abdomen, pressing the layers of cloth until his slender outline is clear, breaking the illusion of the fabric. Stiles tries to sit up, but Scott, Lydia, and Derek all hold him down.

“Stiles when was the last time you ate?”

“This morning.” He replies automatically, flinching at the growl emanating from Derek’s chest. The teen swallows thickly. “Let me up.”

“Stiles…”

“Let me up! Now!” Maybe it was the note of hysteria in his voice, but the three werewolves stand and give him space, allowing Stiles to shakily get to his feet, keeping one hand on the counter behind him and avoiding the gaze of the group gathered before him. His eyes fall to the ground and for the first time he notices the shattered glass sitting in a pool of water beside where he had been lying. 

“Stiles,” This time it is Scott that speaks, voice soft, “what’s going on?”

His breath catches in his throat, and Stiles has to take a moment to recall the breathing exercises his doctor taught him years ago. He wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready to face the reactions of people whose reactions he actually cared about, wasn’t ready to dissect his faults.

He closes his eyes, leaning back against the counter. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Now Jackson calls out, his voice as gruff as usual but his eyes wide in what could almost be fear. “Stiles you can’t lie to werewolves, you know that. When’s the last time you ate?” He repeats Derek’s question.

A sigh escapes, and Stiles is so tired, he feels a part of himself give up, crack under their scrutiny. “I don’t know, maybe breakfast yesterday?”

“What? Why?” Scott cries in dismay, not understanding exactly what it is they are uncovering here. Derek’s eyes simply widen slightly. 

Stiles shrinks a bit more into himself. He feels trapped, and crowded, and wishes more than anything that there weren’t so many eyes analyzing his every detail. “I just… didn’t want to.” That’s not entirely true, either, but the truth is so, so complex. Stiles always wants to eat, is always hungry, starving, but he doesn’t want to want to eat. He just wants to be right. 

“How long has this been going on?” Scott’s voice is shaking, growing in hysteria but none of the others knowing what to do and so they do not stop him. “Stiles you’ve always eaten a lot, I’ve seen you. Why would you suddenly stop?”

And now Stiles eyes snap open. Now the fire is back. “What was I supposed to do?!” He shouts and the pack shifts in surprise, “Everyone is always telling me something different, and everyone is always disappointed. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To never get anything right? No matter what I do, I apparently do it wrong. ‘Stiles how can you eat so much?’ ‘Stiles why are you eating so little?’ ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ ‘Aren’t you full?’ ‘You’re too thin, you’re too heavy, you’re too _fucking_ much’!” He kicks the kitchen chair nearest to him, sending it skittering across the floor before turning back to them screaming, “It’s exhausting!” 

Panting from his outburst, he stares at the group in front of him, eyes wide and frenzied and, he notices for the first time, streaming with tears. “ _What the Hell do you want from me?!_ ”

All the pack is stunned into silence, and Stiles deflates, slumping into himself, completely drained. It is clear that none of them know what to do, and so Stiles does what he’s been wanting to since he woke up on the floor. He runs.

Pushing past the teens crowding the doorway, Stiles bolts out of the kitchen and out the front door. His Jeep is parked a little ways away, and so he really shouldn’t be surprised to find Derek leaning against it by the time he gets there. He is surprised that he’s alone, though. Stiles narrows his eyes and runs his arm across his face to try to hide his tears as he comes to a stop a few feet away. “Move.”

Derek’s face is unreadable, which only serves to make Stiles more nervous. The alpha jerks his head towards Stiles, “You shouldn’t be driving.” Stiles frowns and looks away. He doesn’t feel dizzy at the moment, but he can’t deny that Derek has a point. He jerks in surprise when Derek steps forward. “Give me your keys, I’ll take you home.” The last thing Stiles wants is to be stuck in a car with Derek Hale after his epic break down in the kitchen, but he doesn’t see another option, other than staying and being stuck with the entire pack. Blinking, Stiles searches the werewolf’s face for any sign of ulterior motive, but the older man seems sincere. Reluctantly, Stile reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, holding them out for Derek to take. 

Grabbing the keys casually, Derek nods towards the passenger side, “Get in.” Stiles sighs, resigned, and gets into the car. The drive is silent while Derek maneuvers the vehicle out of the forest. Stiles feels like he’s vibrating with nervous energy. Because he thought he had gotten away before he had to face any rejection, and yet now he had no choice, and so he sat and waited for the condemnation he was sure would come.

But it never did. Derek drove silently, and Stiles was impressed because while the alpha never so much as glanced his way, it didn’t seem like he was actively not looking at Stiles. Strangely, it felt the same as any other drive with Derek, minus Stiles’ usual chatter. Before he even realizes it, they are pulling up next to Stiles’ house. The sheriff’s car is in the driveway, and Derek turns the jeep off, removing the keys and handing them to Stiles. 

Blinking slowly, the human steps out, followed quickly by Derek. “Um, thanks.” Stiles doesn’t really know what else to say, and the anxiety has not gone away yet, still waiting for some shoe to drop.

Derek shrugged, grunting out a quick “No problem”, before turning as if to start walking home. For a moment, all Stiles can do it stare after him. Then, the werewolf pauses. Turning back to Stiles, Derek says quickly, “I think you’re perfect by the way”, before swiftly running off, and if Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say the alpha was blushing. But this day has been too weird, and stressful, and generally just overwhelming, and so Stiles cannot bring himself to delve too deeply into the most recent turn of events. Instead, he walks inside, tells his dad he has a headache, and crawls into bed, not even caring that it is four in the afternoon. He doesn’t sleep, but he doesn’t think either. He just lies there and savors the silence.

~

The next day, Stiles wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. Sunday brings no obligation, and he is dreading having to go to school the next day, so for now he will ignore the problems raining around him. He silences his phone, and looks at the time, noticing that it is only seven-fifteen and he already has six text messages and three missed calls. Sighing, he stands and looks out his window, noticing that his father has already left for work. 

Ten minutes later, he is outside in sweats and sneakers, jogging down the street. His whole body hurts, but he keeps running, The morning air is crisp and cool, and no one else is out yet, allowing Stiles to have this bit of time to himself. As much as he doesn’t want to, all he can think about is the events of the previous day. He wonders if the pack is mad at him, if they’ll finally decide he is more trouble than he’s worth and abandon him. He thinks of Derek, who took him home and called him perfect, and decides that surely he had only said that because he thought it would make Stiles feel better. Nothing but pity, Stiles was sure, and soon the alpha would determine that Stiles wasn’t worth even that. 

His train of thought continued down this path until his third time circling the block, when he turned the corner and nearly ran into one Derek Hale. Yelping in surprise, Stiles abruptly halted, panting more than his run really warranted. The alpha raised an eyebrow questioningly, but Stiles for once had no idea what to say, so he didn’t say anything. 

Derek looked around almost awkwardly. “I didn’t peg you as the kind of person to wake up before noon.”

“Um, my phone woke me up.” The younger boy mumbled uncertainly.

“Oh.” Nodding, there was another pause before Derek blurted out, “Eat breakfast with me.”

Stiles felt his stomach drop. Of course that’s why he was here, Stiles had screwed up again, it was always about food, about weight, about the right and wrong way to eat. He wanted to scream, or cry, or punch something, but Derek was standing in front of him waiting for an answer and Stile thinks he has disappointed him enough.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, come on.” Derek nods and leads the human to his Camero. Stiles considers asking to wait so he can change, but decides against it, preferring the thick, baggy material to hide under. The drive is short, but also more awkward then the one the night before, the silence stifling and Derek shifting nervously in his seat. He pulls into a small diner, almost empty except for the thirty-something nursing a hangover with a cup of coffee at the counter. Derek leads them to a booth in the back, a young lady in an apron smiling enthusiastically at them as she places two menus on the table in front of them. Too soon, she is leaving to fetch them their drinks (coffee for Derek, water for Stiles), leaving the two boys alone. 

Derek’s eyes flick casually over the menu, while Stiles ruminates hopelessly over it. All he can think about is butter and sugar and how the building reeks of grease and how he has no wolf inside of him to devour all the bad stuff. But Derek wants him to eat, that’s why he brought him here, and Stiles wants to make him happy for once, just once, wants this stupid man’s approval. 

Fifteen minutes later, Derek’s omelet is untouched and Stiles is wolfing down a plate of pancakes with eggs, bacon, and hash browns on the side. It’s not as hard as it should be, because Stiles is starving, has been for awhile, and once he takes a bite he can’t stop, even when he realizes what he’s doing and wants to throw the fork away, because this is what Derek wants from him, what the pack wants. He mentally adds a tally in the “people who say ‘eat’” column of his mind. If he bothered to look up, he would see Derek’s face slowly morph into an expression or horrified realization as he figures out that this was probably not his best idea.

Almost as soon as Stiles is finished Derek stands, body stiff and tense. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” The human trails after him, watching the older man pull out his wallet and practically throw too much money at the waitress. Stiles is surprised by how fast the werewolf gets him home. He had expected some sort of lecture or reprimand or something. His heart falls when he realizes that he must have done something wrong again, must have disappointed the alpha again, and now he wanted him gone as soon as possible. 

When they pull in front of the Stilinski house, Stiles is already fumbling for the door, but Derek reaches out, grasping his arm to pause him. “I’m sorry.” He glances at him in surprise, but the werewolf is looking away. “I just wanted… I didn’t mean to…” Stiles has never seen Derek tongue-tied before, and he doesn’t know what it means. Finally, Derek’s fingers uncurl, releasing the younger boy. “I’ll see you later.”

Nodding slowly, Stiles exits the car and walks to his front door, forcing himself not to look back. Because Derek said ‘later’ and later means he’s not done with him yet, and so he holds onto that like a lifeline until he is safely inside. Then everything breaks. For a moment, he just leans against the door, taking deep breaths that do absolutely nothing to help. Before he even realizes what’s happening Stiles is upstairs in his bathroom, falling painfully onto his knees in front of the toilet and puking his guts out. Too much anxiety, and stress, and food churn in his stomach and bile tastes terrible but he feels so much better. It is everything being released, everything bad and wrong being purged from his body and when there’s nothing left but stomach acid he thinks he might be okay.

It’s not until the door bursts open behind him that Stiles becomes vaguely aware that he is sobbing around what has become dry heaving. He closes his eyes and clutches the toilet lid like an anchor, knowing full well who is behind him. 

_This is it_ he thinks, _this is where it all ends_ , he thinks. Because as much as he needs to do this, as much as he feels it will surely help in the long run, Stiles knows that this is when he is the ugliest. Kneeling on too-white tile, bruises blossoming on his knees, saliva and bile running down his nose and chin, eyes red, face puffy, skin pale and clammy and he knows he is ugly. Nobody could want this. Derek would see him and walk away and regret even trying, regret ever calling someone like him ‘perfect’.

A large hand is placed softly on his back, fingers spreading between the outline of his shoulder blades. Stiles’ breath hitches in his chest when he processes that Derek hasn’t left, he is still there, kneeling next to him and rubbing soothing circles against his spine. Stiles sobs harder.

They stay like that for almost ten minutes. The human crying and gagging, the werewolf shushing him softly, keeping him hand comfortingly against him. Stiles eventually goes quiet, still except for shuddering breaths wracking his body. 

“Feel better?” 

Derek’s voice is so gentle, and so sincere, and so not at all judgmental or disgusted that Stiles thinks he might cry again. He holds it in, inhaling deeply and evenly, speaking quietly on the exhale, “Yeah…” his voice raspy and painful. 

The alpha nods, keeping one hand on Stiles’ back and the other on his bicep as he helps him to his feet. Grabbing a washcloth off the towel rack behind them, he soaks it in cold water before handing it to the younger boy. Stiles can feel the tremors running through his body, and he keeps one arm braced against the counter, afraid that his legs might give out. He accepts the cloth and quickly cleans his face, wiping away the tears and spit and bile. When he is done, he feels better, the redness of his eyes the only remnants of what just happened. What is happening. 

Stiles can still feel the hand on his back, and he swallows thickly. “Why are you-“

“I heard you.” Derek cuts him off, “I wanted to make sure you were okay but I heard…” His eyes dart away, just for a moment, “You didn’t sound okay.”

That does sum it up pretty well, so Stiles only nods.

Shifting nervously, Derek looks up to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He blurts out, “I wanted to make things better, but I only made it worse.”

At that, Stiles just laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t think it gets worse than this.”

An unfamiliar sadness veils Derek’s eyes, and for a moment he doesn’t seem to know what to say. Eventually, he swallows, “Where’s your dad?”

“Work. He doesn’t know about… this. Not really at least. I mean, he thinks he does, but he really, really doesn’t.”

“Don’t you think he should know?” 

Stiles pauses and stares at the older man. “You know how I said it can’t get worse?” Derek nods. “I lied. That would make it worse.”

There is another break of silence. The two boys stand across from each other, neither knowing what to say to make the other happy. Stiles’ throat still burns, and Derek’s hand is still warm against his back. 

A few minutes later, Derek is jumping out his bedroom window, telling Stiles that he will see him tomorrow, and Stiles breaths a sigh of relief that he does not have to say goodbye just yet.

~

School is Hell. Because he can’t not go to school, that would set off far too many red flags in his father’s mind. But as soon as he steps out of his jeep, Stiles can _feel_ four sets of eyes piercing him. 

Walking as swiftly as he can without drawing too much attention to himself, Stiles rushes into the building. However, before he can make it anywhere near his locker, he is cut off by Allison and Scott. Stiles jerks to a stop, feeling very much like a deer in the headlights, about to be plowed down.

“Hey man, are you okay? You didn’t return any of my messages.”

And yeah, Stiles does feel kind of bad about that, but at the same time he kind of doesn’t because Scott wasn’t supposed to corner him the way he did. Still, he has the good grace to look sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. My phone died and I forgot to charge it.”

Scott gets a few points back in Stiles’ book for ignoring the very blatant lie, instead just nodding. “I was worried about you. Are you… feeling better?” 

His friend looks like a fish out of water, and sometimes Stiles is glad that he met Scott after his mother died because he doesn’t think Scott would have handled it well, though not for lack of trying. He gets a few more points for trying. 

“Yeah, yeah. Saturday was just… nothing, really. I’m fine.”

This time Scott looks like he he’s going to call out the lie, but before he can Allison places a gentle hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder, keeping her eyes on Stiles as she smiles softly. “We’re glad. Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“We better get to class. See you later, okay?” And just like that Allison is dragging Scott away, giving their friend some much needed space and Stiles gives Allison about a million points and decides that when this all blows over he is having a serious discussion with Scott about him marrying that girl. 

Stiles manages to get through first period with no major incidents, but then as he is walking to his locker, he turns a corner and sees the pack standing together at the end of the hall. He is just preparing to turn back around when the group shifts, and for the first time he notices that Derek is among them. He apparently had just caught the end of their discussion, because they all parted ways then, Derek’s eyes catching his for barely a second before disappearing in the crowds. Blinking, Stiles decides that he doesn’t really need his history book, and quickly walks to class.

Lunch is something he really can’t handle today, and so he decides to skip it, regardless of the fact that it will most certainly not help his whole “I’m fine” thing he’s got going on. Still, he walks outside and around the side of the main building, sitting quietly against the wall and pulling at a loose thread on his jeans. He nearly leaps out of his skin when Lydia abruptly appears and sits next to him.

“Stiles we need to talk.”

Sucking in a breath, he waits for her to tell him that he’s too much trouble, not good enough, or something else that means she doesn’t want him around. Instead, she turns to look at him with an almost resigned look on her face. 

“It’s about you and Derek. You’re both so oblivious it is actually painful.”

The comment is so out of left field, catches him so off guard, that for a moment all Stiles can do it sputter. “Wha-, I… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh honey,” Lydia sighs, shaking her head sympathetically, “don’t lie to me. It wouldn’t work even if I was human. You get hearts in your eyes when you look at him, and Derek practically wags his tail every time you walk in a room.”

Stiles scoffs, “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Derek here?”

“I like that you didn’t deny the ‘hearts in your eyes’ comment.”

Cheeks burning, he tries to stammer out a response, but there is nothing he can do to wipe the smug look off of the girl’s face. “To answer your question, yes. Derek’s heart beats only for you. You should have seen Scott’s face the first time he realized that.” The mental image is pretty hilarious, so Stiles allows himself a genuine laugh. Lydia smiles warmly at the sound. “So when are you going to make your move, lover boy?”

That makes Stiles’ face fall, the smile slipping and his eyes downcast. “Look, even if you’re right, which I still have doubts about…” Lydia snorts, “I don’t think Derek and I would be a… a good match.”

“How do you figure?”

“He’s so… I mean, He’s… I’m…” Stiles looks up, his eyes wide and distraught, “You don’t think he could do better than someone like me?”

“No.”

The response is so quick, and so blunt, that he is stunned into silence. Lydia looks into his eyes, her expression dead serious, “Stiles, I know we’re hard on you, and we’re not particularly nice on the best of days, but here’s the thing: You’re funny, and sweet, and gorgeous. You’re so smart that when you actually manage to focus, you could give me a run for my money. You’re brave and loyal. You know the right time to encourage and the right time to put someone in their place. You stand up for yourself, and everyone around you, and you have no problem calling Derek out on his shit. Derek absolutely needs someone like you. I think he could be good for you, too, but don’t ever think that you wouldn’t be just as good for him.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to react to such a genuine speech from the girl he used to love about the man he currently loves. He wonders why he ever thought he needed Lydia to be more, when she is so perfect as his friend.

Before he can reply, the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and Lydia stands, brushing herself off and flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Good talk Stiles. Call me when you guys finally do it.”

Sputtering indignantly, the strawberry-blond disappears inside the school, and Stiles is halfway to class before he realizes that Lydia Martin called him gorgeous. 

~

The day is almost over, and Stiles is just heading to the last class of the day when Jackson is suddenly walking beside him, shoving a protein bar into his hands. “Here, I forgot to check the label. I’m allergic to peanuts.” His voice is gruff, and his cheeks are ever so slightly pink, even as he abruptly walks away, gone as quickly as he had come. Stiles glances down at the bar he now sees is peanut butter flavored and smiles. He has no intention of eating it, but it still feels nice that even Jackson, who for the longest time he thought had hated him, apparently cares enough to try to help in his own way. Stiles doesn’t eat the bar, but he doesn’t throw it away either, placing it carefully in the corner of his locker like the gift he knows it is.

~

Stiles hadn’t changed in front of anyone for a long time. Even with lacrosse practices, he usually managed to arrive just late enough that everyone else was already heading outside, but as long as he dressed fast enough he wouldn’t actually be late. Scott and Jackson had never questioned it, but now the truth was painfully obvious. So while he somehow managed to pull it off before practice the next day, Stiles wasn’t really surprised when practice ended and instead of leaving immediately as they usually did, his two friends lagged behind, staying until they were the last three in the locker room. He fidgeted nervously, because their presence also meant that he wouldn’t be able to do his usual weight-lifting routine. He still hadn’t given up the hope that he could maybe bulk up a little. 

“Come on, man, I need a ride home.” Scott whines.

For a moment, Stiles feels almost faint with anxiety, because he was definitely not ready for this. Scott and Jackson aren’t staring at him or anything, just conversing amongst themselves, but it is still too much. Just when he thinks he might actually bust a window and make a break for it, Derek suddenly appears in the doorway. Stiles jumps a bit, but the alpha is looking at the two betas.

“You two, come with me.”

Scott and Jackson look at each other in surprise. Apparently they hadn’t been expecting their leader’s appearance either. 

“Um, I needed a ride from-“

“Go with Jackson.” Derek cuts Scott off, narrowing his eyes at them. “Come. Now.” A bit of his alpha-voice seeps through and the two teens are immediately exiting, scrambling to follow their orders. Derek follows them with his eyes until they are both out of sight. Then he turns back to the human. “I need you to come to my place tomorrow night.”

Stiles blinks. “Uh, sure?”

“Good. Five o’clock. Don’t be late.” He nods brusquely before promptly leaving. Stiles stands for a minute, not entirely sure what just happened, but eventually settles in relief that he is now free to continue his usual routine. He stays in the gym for an hour and a half before finally changing, comfortably alone, and making his way home. 

~

The next evening, Stile approaches the Hale mansion reluctantly. He finds the front door open a crack, and pushes it farther open, sticking his head just inside as he calls out timidly, “Derek?”

“Come here.” Derek’s voice commands. 

Stiles follows the sound into the kitchen, where he finds Derek standing over a pot on the stove. Blinking in surprise, Stiles says the first thing that comes to him. “Your stove actually works?”

The werewolf mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “It does now” before saying louder, “Just come here, I need you to check something.” Stiles approaches tentatively and Derek abruptly shoves a spoon in front of his lips. “Tell me if I put too much pepper in this.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow skeptically, “You can’t taste it yourself?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “I like my food spicy, so sometimes I put too much for normal people without realizing it.”

That sounds legitimate, so Stiles hesitantly sips the liquid in the spoon. He considers it for a moment before shaking his head, “It’s fine. You could even add more if you wanted.”

Nodding, Derek returns to the pot, adding a few more grinds of black pepper before offering Stiles another spoonful. Tasting it again, Stiles nods. “Yeah, that’s good.” He tilts his head to the side, “What is this, anyway?”

Stirring the pot and reaching for a few more spices, Derek responds, “It’s this beef stew my dad used to make.”

“Your dad?” Stiles blurts in surprise. Derek never talks about his family, other than occasional mentions of his sister.

The alpha nods. “Yeah. This is one of his recipes he used to make a lot.”” He lets out a snort, “My mom couldn’t cook to save her life, so my dad had to do all the cooking.”

“Huh.”

Derek smirks, “It gets better. My dad could never bring himself to discipline any of us, he was too much of a softy. So my mom had to dole out all the punishments. They had a classic role-reversal thing going on.”

Stiles laughs, barely noticing when Derek holds the spoon up again, swallowing without thinking. “That makes me feel better about being ‘pack mom’, I guess.”

Now Derek laughs, and for a moment Stiles is taken by just how handsome he is. “Oh please, you’ve always loved it.”

“Well, yeah.” Derek adds a handful of parsley and stirs, Stiles taking another offered spoonful. “So are you pack dad, then?”

“I’m alpha.”

“…That’s just tough-guy speak for ‘pack dad’, isn’t it?” Derek swats at Stiles’ arm playfully and the human laughs, “Wow Derek, twenty-two and already proud father of four. How do you manage?”

“Shut up.” The alpha responds, trying to sound menacing but unable to hide the note of fondness. “If that’s how you’re gonna play, then that makes you sixteen and mother of four. That’s even worse.”

“On the contrary, I can think of at least three reality tv shows that would snatch me up in a second. I’m looking at early retirement, here.”

Derek rolls his eyes, picking up a fork and poking around in the pot. “I think you’d be better suited for a lifetime movie as a cautionary tale.” He stabs a piece of meat and holds it out, one hand cupped under it to keep it from dropping on the floor. Stiles backs away dramatically.

“What is that? Did you kill that yourself?”

“Shut up.” Derek replied indignantly, “It’s just normal beef.”

“Wait, you mean you actually bought it?”

“Yes, okay? Now eat. I have super teeth, I wont be able to tell if I over-cooked it.”

Stiles bit down as the meat was shoved in his face. As he chews, he cocks his head to the side contemplatively. “I now have a mental picture of you grocery shopping. I will admit it’s kind of freaky.” Derek rolls his eyes again and turns away, but Stiles continues, “No, no, really, this has never occurred to me before. What other normal-people things do you do?” The werewolf growls, but that only makes Stiles smile wider. “Do you buy toilet paper? And shampoo? Do you brush your teeth at night?”

The alpha turns around slowly, eyes narrowed in what would have been a very effective warning had Stiles not seen the quiver in the corner of his lips. “Oh my God,” his eyes widen in realization, “the mattress in your room upstairs, did you buy that? Did you go into a mattress store and sit on a bunch of beds and jump up and down and decide how soft you wanted it?”

“Shut. Up.” Derek thrusts a spoonful of stew into the younger boy’s mouth. 

Stiles sputters for a moment, but then swallows and grins, “So that’s a yes then?” All he receives is a sigh. Then another thought occurs to him, “Hey Derek, where do you get your money, anyway?”

Derek shrugs, “I have some insurance money, but I don’t like using it. I mainly do odd-jobs for various people who don’t know who I am.”

“There are people who don’t know who you are?”

“Fortunately, yes. Mostly elderly people, but there are some others, too.”

“Wait, you work for old people? Are any of them little old ladies? Do they give you hard candy and pinch your cheeks?” Stiles was completely joking, but then he notices the faintest shade of pink creeping up the werewolf’s neck, and his jaw drops, “Oh my God, they totally do, don’t they! They think you’re just the nice neighborhood kid helping them out and they treat you as such!”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“Yeah but still.” There is a pause. “Man, I thought the image of you shopping was weird. Now I can’t stop picturing you being harassed by grandmothers.” The only response to that is another forkful of beef.

“This is why I don’t tell you anything.”

Stiles chuckles around the mouthful of food, “Ouch, I’m hurt.” 

Grumbling under his breath, Derek gives the pot a few more stirs, looking down into the liquid before taking another spoonful and holding it out for Stiles, who drinks it instinctively. “Well, to your credit I supposed your response is probably better than Scott’s would be.”

“That is absolutely true.” Stiles tilts his head as Derek turns the stove off, moving the stew off the burner and placing the lid on top. “How much longer?” He starts fidgeting slightly, wondering when he’s going to have to sit down and face another meal.

“It’s done.” Derek responds bluntly, turning and walking away.

“What?” Stiles blinks in confusion.

“It’s done. Now come on, they’re showing the extended version of ‘Fellowship of the Ring’ on Fox.”

It takes a moment for Stiles to follow, breathing a sigh of relief and not willing to question Derek’s change of heart. He flops onto the couch next to the older man. “Wait, your tv works, too?”

Derek groans, and they get fifteen minutes into the movie before Stiles realizes that he has a comfortable amount of food in his stomach, and he doesn’t even feel like purging.

~

Friday night, Stiles finds himself in his house, his father working another night shift, with four werewolves and a huntress piled in his living room. Apparently the Lord of the Rings thing has inspired Derek to establish a pack movie night. For bonding or something. Regardless, Stiles was now sitting on the floor, which had been covered with sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows, surrounded by enthusiastic teenagers who all had a different opinion on what they should watch. Jackson and Lydia were arguing about The Notebook, while Allison and Scott were being lovey-dovey in the half-fort they had constructed between the coffee table and the couch. Derek sat against the wall, trying to look menacing, but clearly resembling a fondly exasperated father. Food was scattered throughout the room, bowls of chips and popcorn, and a few plates with chopped vegetables that Allison had brought. Stiles hadn’t touched any of it.

Shaking his head at the group, Stiles grunted as he stood. He put his hands on his hips and gave the pack his best stern look, but very clearly holding back a grin “I’m going to grab some sodas. You kids better have a movie picked out by the time I get back.”

“Yes, mom.” The pack chimed, smiling teasingly at him. Rolling his eyes and laughing, he walked to the back of the house, heading to the garage where the extra cases of soda were kept. 

He had just grabbed a pack of cola when his eyes flicked to the back corner of the room. Slowly placing the drinks back down, Stiles walked to the other side of the garage. After a moment of debate, he softly pulled the dusty tarp off of the mirror. 

The little boy from all those years ago has changed a lot, the crack now running across his chest where he thinks his heart must be. He tilts his head, turning from side to side, bring his hands up to gently push his jacket and shirt up, revealing the pale white skin of his stomach. Too much fat, not enough muscle. His eyes are sad, and he thinks maybe he hasn’t changed after all. 

“Stiles?”

Twisting in surprise, the teen immediately shoves his clothes back down, wrapping his arms around his middle as if that might hide it more. Derek is standing in the doorway, his eyes radiating concern. Stiles swallows thickly.

“Why did you call me perfect?” He blurts out, turning back to the mirror. He looks himself up and down, whispering to himself, “I’m not anywhere close to perfect.”

“No one is.” Stiles lets his eyes drift shut at the sound of the alpha’s voice. After a moment, he feels his arm being pulled away from his stomach, and fingers entwine with his. “I just meant you were perfect for me.”

Opening his eyes, Stiles looks in the mirror and sees the reflection of Derek’s hand holding his, firmly and gently. He sees the way their fingers lace together, like they were made for each other, the way they fit so seamlessly together. Perfectly. 

As he is steered away, Stiles thinks that maybe the reflection isn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> (Hella long Author’s note.)(I wont judge if you skip it.)(No one will know…)
> 
> So, most of my stories have some personal elements in them(isn’t that a scary thought?), but this one more than the others. However, some things to keep in mind:
> 
> 1) I am a huge believer that mental disorders are very unique to every individual, so this probably only accurately represents a very small portion of people suffering from this, and  
> 2) I am not a boy (gasp!), so while I did my best to represent that side, it is entirely possible that I got some parts wrong, or overlooked things. If I did, please feel free to tell me about it. I am always interested in expanding my knowledge on these subjects beyond my own experience. :)  
> **3) (AND THIS IS THE IMPORTANT ONE!!) This is a piece of fiction, and as much as we all may wish that things work out as nicely as they do in stories, the real world works differently. So if you or someone you know has a problem like this, seek professional help!! Be supportive, and be there for the person, but this is not the type of thing that anyone should try to tackle on their own. Don't try to take matters into your own hands!! Please, please let a professional help!**
> 
> Also, I in no way wanted to portray Mr. Stilinski as a “bad guy” (or Mrs. Stilinski)(or Scott, for that matter). There is no bad guy in this story. Watching someone you love suffer from an eating disorder is hard. It’s even harder to watch them die from it and it’s even _harder_ to see the cycle repeating in another loved one. The fact is, not everyone is going to handle that situation well, and that is no one’s fault. It’s just hard.
> 
> So, this is my second “afterschool special" fic (third? Or something? Lordy...)(I blame the fact that my insurance doesn’t cover therapy.)(Your tears are my anti-depressants.)(Irony?)
> 
> (Oh God I’m sorry.)
> 
> ANYWAY (every time I use parenthesis, Stiles forgets his Adderall.) I hope you enjoyed, but if you didn’t please let me know (about the story or the writing). I am always looking to improve. Thank you for reading! (And putting up with my random rants.)(It’s been a long week.)
> 
> (Here endeth the Author’s note.)


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